


Peppermint Mocha Means I Love You In A Rare Tibetan Dialect

by AlwaysLera



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint knows how to bribe Natasha, Clint really does not like parties, Clint's a typical guy, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and angst and hints at smut, Foreign Languages, Natasha can be bribed, Natasha likes a party, No Smut, Peppermint mochas, Starbucks, Starbucks inspired fic, relationship quirks, unapologetic fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysLera/pseuds/AlwaysLera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's late for Tony and Pepper's big fancy engagement party that Natasha helped to plan. To make up for it, and his phobia about what Natasha might expect from their relationship, he makes a quick stop for an unusual party favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peppermint Mocha Means I Love You In A Rare Tibetan Dialect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shaneequa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaneequa/gifts).



> For the prompt of Clintasha and peppermint mocha <3

            He was late. She was probably going to kill him. There were some times when Clint didn’t mind fantastizing about all the ways she could do him in, but this time, he was only grimly trying to make his way through the pre-holiday rush in Manhattan. Pepper and Tony were finally engaged.

(“Thank god,” Clint had said, clapping Tony on the back. “I was fearful for your immortal soul, what with you living in sin.”

Tony had shot Natasha a dark look across the room. “You promised me he’d behave.”

Natasha had given Tony her tiny smile she reserved for her friends, “This is behaving. He could be much worse.”)

Natasha, Jane, and Darcy had planned an engagement party. When Clint had heard that Natasha was involved, he had been doubtful, to say the least. Natasha hadn’t been to a wedding where she hadn’t had a mark, and to his understanding, she didn’t even know what an engagement was before Jane and Darcy explained it to her. And to Clint’s surprise, Natasha had thrown herself into the planning for the very elaborate party with obvious delight. They had spent the previous two weeks in Afghanistan and she had used their precious satellite phone to call Darcy to check on the champagne order.

As far as Clint was concerned, someone had drugged her, or traded her in for a New and Different Natasha. A surprisingly domestic Natasha. It was strange and uncomfortable. He had flat out asked her if that was what she was looking for in her future (Clint had never been subtle. Much like his chosen career, he liked to watch from a distance and then just ask the blunt questions, fire the kill shots.)

She had looked at him in surprise from where she studied a map by candlelight, her eyes very bright and blue. “No.”

And that was all he had been given. He couldn’t figure out whether it was a _No, I know you’re not going to do that so I’ve given up hope_ or _No, I don’t want that_ or _No_ of some other variety. Women were tricky and difficult that way, Clint knew, though he had always thought Natasha to be well outside that standard norm. For the last two weeks, he had watched her carefully for signs of longing and wistfulness when she interacted with Pepper or talked about the party with Jane and Darcy. He could read none in her expression or her words. Still, she was the queen of the world when it came to manipulation.

Now he was late to the party because he couldn’t find the jacket that matched his suit pants (because, god help them all, Jane and Darcy had overruled Natasha’s suggestion of a small party and now it was a huge event at the Tower that involved extra security and a high amount of anxiety on the part of the two spies on the team). Natasha was going to kill him.

Nearly to the door of the tower, a bright green sign caught his attention and just like that, his anxiety clicked off. “There,” he said mostly to himself. “That’s what I need.”

A few minutes later, he was weaving through a crowd that made him want to climb into the rafters, his eyes focused on red curls, a black dress that was absolutely positively sinful, and a woman only playing at being friendly and polite. She was holding a glass of champagne when he reached her and her eyes ran up and down him, her eyebrows arching appreciatively, and then she scowled as he pulled the champagne flute from her hand and placed it on the bar behind her.

“Hi,” he said, pressing the warm cup he carried into her hand. “You’ve been on your feet all day, right?”

She lifted the cup and read the side of it. “You got me a peppermint mocha for a late Friday night engagement party?”

Clint reached behind her, stole the champagne flute, and downed it all in a gulp. “Peppermint mocha means I love you in a rare Tibetan dialect.”

Two of the men Natasha had been speaking with snorted here. Either they didn’t know who Clint was and thought he was a nobody making a move on Natasha Romanov, or they knew exactly who he was and couldn’t believe he was trying a line like that. Unluckily for both of those gentlemen, he knew exactly what he was doing. Natasha’s eyes laughed at him, though she kept her mouth shut.

Her fingers closed around the lapel of his jacket. “Gentlemen, excuse me.”

She marched Clint through the crowd toward a service hallway where the caterers were setting up for the next round of hors d’ourves. She turned toward him and said, “You’re still late.”

He shrugged. “I know. You’re not surprised.”

“I’m surprised you came at all,” she said, catching him off guard. Her hand still gripped the mocha tightly. She sipped at it, studying him in the low light. He didn’t dare move. There was a decision happening in Natasha’s mind and he didn’t dare risk throwing it against his favor. She pulled the cup away from her mouth and pressed her mouth to his. She tasted like chocolate, candy canes, and champagne. It was intoxicating, like her curves in the black dress hugging her in all the right places, like his hands running down her sides, like her hips pressing forward against his.

“Thank you for the mocha,” she said quietly, stepping away from him. One of her arms crossed over her stomach defensively, a tell she rarely exposed that meant something difficult for her to say was about to be expressed. Clint tensed. She touched his cheek with the back of her hand. “I know it scares you to be here.”

He blinked. “There are a lot of people.”

“And I was enthusiastic about the party and Tony and Pepper’s marriage,” she added carefully, her eyes glowing in the dim light.

He wanted her pressed back against him. They were better that way. This talking business was trouble. Wasn’t the mocha supposed to prevent this? He cleared his throat and shrugged. “Yes.”

The corner of her mouth twitched and she leaned forward, keeping her body away from him as she kissed him, her tongue pressing open his lips. He wanted to take her upstairs to the rooms they had here and never used. She whispered against his neck, gliding her teeth across his skin, “I’m happy because Tony is my friend and it grounds him to have Pepper. He gets anxious without proof that they are each others. I know that you and I don’t need that proof. We just know it and that’s enough for us.”

God, that woman was going to kill him and not at all in the ways he thought. His heart stopped and then leapt into action. He pulled her close to him, hand slipping over the curvature of her ass, her hand with the mocha pressing against his shoulder. He sighed and leaned his forehead on hers. “And if I ever am worried, I’ll just keep bringing you mochas.”

“It’s a good thing we both speak that rare Tibetan dialect,” she whispered back, smiling.

“Still, I think the best way to save your immortal soul is to help you out of this sinful dress,” he offered, biting her earlobe.

She sucked a mark onto his neck, hard enough that he saw stars. He exhaled slowly and she leaned back to meet his eyes. “Later, you can worry about my soul. I’d be happy to get down on my knees and pray.”

Yep. Dead.

Natasha patted his cheek. “Focus, Barton. You’re looking like I gave you Christmas early.”

“I’m bringing you a peppermint mocha every single day,” he managed to say.

“Looking forward to it!” She called, sailing back out of the hallway and into the party, her hair a beacon, and tipping the mocha back to her mouth, sipping again and again. The look she gave him over her shoulder? Yeah. He was going to need a moment in the hallway. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked! It was a little more hot under the collar than I expected but you know, I should have guessed with these two.


End file.
